


I Think I Know

by Aloof_Introvert



Series: Managing the Life of Tarrant Hightopp, and Five Other Impossible Things [3]
Category: Alice in Wonderland (2010)
Genre: Gen, Head Injury, Mental Health Issues, Minor Violence, Non-canonical surname
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-17 02:26:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5850316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aloof_Introvert/pseuds/Aloof_Introvert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tarrant is visited by an old friend.<br/>But with friends like these...</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Think I Know

     "Chessur Katze," I whispered.

     "Must you speak so formally? You sound like a villain in a novel," Chessur purred. Weaksome sunlight glinted off his blue-and-grey-striped fur; his turquoise eyes swallowed it slyly as though pick-pocketing the sky. Light at heart, he floated in the air, disembodied. I leant forwards, and I suppose I was staring, because he wore a puzzled countenance and the rest of him twisted into form. His grin (which naturally stretched from ear to ear) did not comfort me in the slightest. "Now, what are you looking at me like THAT for?" he sighed.

     I tried to speak.

     "It was this fellow who helped carry you in," said Thackery, wringing his paws smilingly.

     I tried to speak, but found rage stealing my very breath. Chessur seemed to sense it.

     "Calm down, Tarrant... You might strain your voice. A trifle hoarse, aren't you?"

     "It was more dragging," Thackery continued, apologeticlike.

     "What business have you here?" I demanded of Chessur, sitting up completely.

     "Just coming to visit an old friend..." He met my gaze with sharp-pupiled eyes.

     "'Friend' is an exaggeration, I think," I mused.

     "I've known you for years, Tarrant."

     "And after all that you have nothing to say to me. Get out," I commanded with a grating voice, pointing to the door. Chessur merely raised an eyebrow.

     "I saved your life, Tarrant."

     "I've lost everything--"

     "Except your life," quipped Chessur, floating to the end of the bed.

     "I've lost everything, and you ran away to save your own skin!" It was true: I had only the clothes on my back and the words that hissed through my teeth, as well as that distracted parcel of recollection that had named itself my brain.

     "Now, Tarrant. You musn't be so dreadsome. Smile, will you?" Teasingly, Chessur appeared just before me and stretched his horrid grin. "Like this," he instructed, and the words had scarce left his mouth before I reached for his neck.

     I hadn't meant to. Honestly. It's such an unsavoury thing, murder, so dreadful. It was as though I had no control over my own body. I was simply too mad.

     Luckily, Chessur was able to vanish before I could get any sort of grip on him, reappearing several feet away. His smile had a worried lilt. "Easy does it, Tarrant. Did you not hear me?" he said, voice smooth and measured, lacking any indication of the violence of the moment before. "Some gratitude would be appreciated, for myself as well as Mr. Earwicket here." With that, he motioned a paw towards Thackery, who was desperate wringing his ears.

     "Ohhh, dear," Thackery almost whispered. At this point I entered into a fit of raving madness, during which I aimed at Chessur accusations so foul that I am loathe to admit them here; I am not desirous to appall you, dear reader, with cursing and likeness. During this unchecked violence of my mood, I rose from my sickbed and was (and I am certain you shall appreciate the irony) interrupted in my furious paroxysm by yet ANOTHER furious paroxysm. I coughed, wrenching breaths that strained my throat nearly to bursting it seemed, or at least to the extent that Thackery thought it fitting to hurl an empty glass of barley water at my head.

     This next installment I can impart only through secondhand stories. By Thackery and Chessur's accounts, I fell to the ground and remained insensible for several minutes. What's more, upon waking I complained of a headache and upset stomach, yet I was not as alert as I seemed. According to Chessur, I failed to remember simple things such as what had happened to me, what year was it (1859 if you stand wondering), or even the intrinsic fact of my own name. This distressed poor Thackery to no end: he (though unwilling to admit it) continuously entreated my forgiveness for striking me, for he had been worried that I would either "kill the cat or keel over." During this short time, I forgave Thackery capriciouslike, but persisted in grieving he and Chessur with my headache and what I named, "distracted sight." I had difficulty walking competentsome, and was afflicted with a concerning lack of comprehension: in short, I was for ever confused. Luckily, my recovery lasted only one day and one night. 

     My anger, however, lingered and smoldered within me. Once I was entirely sensible, the memory of my violent outburst put into my head the idea of apologising to Chessur. However late at night it was, and how inconvenient to consider apologising in my new lucidity at such an hour, did not deter me much. I rose quietly from my then-borrowed bed and stole like a criminal to Chessur's place in the sitting-room. He lay curled on a plush but worn arm-chair, grey-striped tail wound comfortably round his fluffly legs, turquoise fur clashing with the brownish-orange fabric. The floor-boards creaked as I walked upon them; Chessur's ears angled themselves towards me, and one eye lazily opened. 

     "Yes?" asked Chessur, in his drowse managing to stretch the word into perhaps four or five separate syllables. I met his eyes.

     "I do believe some apologies are in order." Chessur's expectant silence, accompanied by a flick of his tail, reported plainly that he agreed. "I'm sorry for my violence yester-day. That was horrible of me." Chessur perceived my sincerity with a sly smile.

     "Apology accepted, Tarrant... I only ask that you avoid doing any thing like that again, hmm?"

     "I'll try," I said. There was a silence as I toyed with one of my hand-kerchiefs.

     "I've never seen you so very angry," Chessur mentioned casually, cutting his eyes at me. I did not have any thing to say to that; my mind was preoccupied in wondering if, indeed, I would be capable of holding back such potent fury if it appeared again. Chessur's countenance gained again that curious look of concern. "Perhaps you ought to get some rest, Tarrant... You might be needing it."

     "Yes, of course," I replied, started from my reverie. "Good night, Chessur."

     "Good night, Tarrant." He shut his large eyes and burrowed his head into his paws, using them as pillows.

     As I made my way silently back to my room, I thought on my apology. I wasn't certain if Chessur noticed that I had failed to apologise for a single word that I had said. Clouded by rage, it seemed, I spoke the truth.

\----


End file.
